


The Intruders

by dontleaveportland



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Horror, M/M, Settlement, Settlement/Village Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-16 01:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7247593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontleaveportland/pseuds/dontleaveportland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearing seventeen years old, Stiles Stilinski is eagerly awaiting the harvest season which promises new prosperity for his recently settled village, as well as the joining of two prominent families within the village: the Stilinskis and Martins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Buzz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested music for Chapter 1: [Amy Lee's "Between Worlds"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5hV98cNxQ_o).  
> Find it via YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5hV98cNxQ_o .

 

The harsh vibrations of a horse fly’s wings beating thousands per second drew Stiles Stilinski’s attention back to his surroundings – something he very much did not appreciate given the uncomfortable heat surrounding him.

He looked back up, gaze sweeping the golden acres in front of him and seeking out the wooden structure that would save their town from these confining sermons before the end of summer.

The intruding buzzing sound returned, accompanied by a gentle whirl as the horse fly’s wings flapped against Stiles’s left cheekbone.

Just as Stiles was beginning to find the sound somewhat harmonious, hypnotic even, the hum came to an abrupt end as a crack ricocheted throughout the air.

Warmth spread across Stiles’s cheek, and a slight burn followed at the realization that he had just been slapped.

Stiles turned his head toward his attacker, thoughts of confrontation bubbling up from his empty stomach, but all of that melted away as he took in the form of his neighbor. Lydia Martin.

Lydia’s hair appeared like fire resting on her white dress and against the backdrop of rippling wheat fields behind her. The contrasting colors were highlighted further by her light complexion.

Stiles often thought about the roughness that surrounded their lives here, but Lydia’s skin always seemed to remain so… Clean. So soft to the eyes.

“Focus,” Lydia mouthed silently, wiping lightly at his cheek to remove the now squashed insect.

Stiles snorted at the irony of Lydia’s demand. Ungodly thoughts quickly replacing his irritation with the rising temperature.

Fortunately, the summer’s end promised to remove more than one barrier for Stiles.

Not only would the town have a newly established church for their town to congress in (rather than melting or freezing outside as they had done since first settling in these lands), but the harvest season would begin with a wedding – a wedding between the Martins and Stilinskis.

Stiles was fairly certain that Lydia had only agreed to the union because his father was the town’s peacekeeper, but he figured she would eventually learn to appreciate him beyond his father’s current stature.

After all, Stiles would be the one taking on the challenge of a virtuous father-in-law, and –

Lydia pinched forcefully at Stiles’s elbow, somehow already knowing the thoughts racing through his mind.

“Pay attention to Papa,” Lydia said, nodding her head toward her father standing at the makeshift stump dais.

“He gave this exact same speech three Sundays ago,” Stiles said, shaking his head slightly, “We hear it each time one of the Carver twins gets caught out in the fields past curfew. Let them sit here alone if they’re such a trouble.”

Lydia’s quiet snicker met Stiles’s ears, but he turned his head back toward her as the chuckle turned strained.

“Lydia,” Stiles said, squinting in the sunlight to see Lydia’s smile fade slowly from her face, her eyes seeming to flood with confusion.

A small red line trickled from Lydia’s mouth, followed be a labored gurgle and then more red.

Blood quickly flooded the once white dress.

Stiles’s stomach dropped as he reached out toward Lydia, throat constricting as he fought to let out the scream building within his lungs.

Except he never reached Lydia, her form yanked quickly away from the bench they shared and toward the wheat field, and his own pulled into the fray of townspeople surrounding them.

Amongst the many screams of his neighbors, Stiles heard one above the rest, “They’re here!”


	2. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles's eyes widened as his mind registered what the rest of his body had already perceived. The quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested music for Chapter 2: [Gary Numan's "I Can't Breathe"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S9vot8W3WAM).  
> Find it via YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S9vot8W3WAM .

Stiles’s lungs burned as he ran deeper into the fields, the sun’s position telling him that he was running directly into the forbidden area.

Thick branches grated against his skin, and he closed his eyes momentarily to avoid some of the dust raised from his pounding feet.

Images of Lydia’s blood soaked dress filled his mind, and the gurgle she had made before being reeled away from him seemed to echo between his ears.

There had been too much activity around him to understand everything that was happening, but their town had dealt with similar attacks before.

Except none had ever affected Stiles quite so directly before.

Usually he spent the entirety of the attacks worrying about his father, it had never even crossed his mind that Lydia would be taken from him first.

Anger fueled his limbs forward and nausea rumbled within his stomach, the two strange emotions clashing like the battle around him. But he pressed forward remembering the little boy he had been following.

Stiles didn’t remember seeing the child before, but that wasn’t so strange. He didn’t spend a lot of time interacting with the town’s children, instead trying to help out in the fields or with his father as much as possible.

If Stiles hadn’t initially been trying to find Lydia’s body, he probably never would have seen the little boy running into the field.

Dark hair almost lost in the field’s shadows, and his cries masked by the screams of the fleeing crowd.

Unfortunately the child was running toward the very things tormenting the town.

Nearly tripping on a raised root, Stiles stopped to listen for any sound of the child.

He should have caught the boy by now.

“Hey,” Stiles called out, peering through the stalks, “Boy! Come back!”

Walking forward again, Stiles’s stomach rumbled with a new sense of nausea at the thought of coming across the boy’s bloodied body.

These… _Things_ were monsters. Creatures God never intended to be created.

Stiles stopped at the sound of a twig or branch snapping. He focused his hearing on his surroundings, hunching forward slightly to try and attempt to see above the field around him.

Stiles felt the hair on his nape and arms raise slightly, as if they detected something his mind hadn’t yet translated.

His eyes widened as his mind registered what the rest of his body had already perceived.

The quiet.

Nothing seemed to move in the field – not within it, or above it.

Stiles raised his head slowly toward the sky, already readying his legs for flight has he tried to gather the direction of the town from the sun’s position.

As quickly as he could, Stiles shot forward, angling in the direction he thought would lead him back to the town.

Something pounded behind him, almost a hundred times as much dust raised by his own feet seemed to come from his right, and he knew it was one of them.

Another cloud of dust seemed to be racing toward him from the left, and Stiles realized too late as he maneuvered between the two monsters that he was being herded intentionally.

Or at least that’s what it felt like.

Stiles felt himself flung into the air as he tripped again, this time over a fallen log, nearly somersaulting into a short clearing in the field.

Stiles recognized the clearing as one of the watering holes made for livestock when work brought the townspeople too far out from town.

Dread filled his stomach as the clouds of dust seemed to circle the clearing, the ground beneath him rumbling slightly from the movement.

Stiles thought briefly about praying – for a miracle maybe, something that might save him from his current situation. But the Lord had better things to do in a day, he was sure of it.

And maybe this was punishment for not taking the Argent’s warnings more seriously. Maybe the town had lost its way since first settling.

The dust seemed to stop, and Stiles slammed his eyes shut as the stalks began to move directly in front of him. A mountain of emotions railed within him, and Stiles imagined the power of them coursing outside of his body and reaching out toward the being responsible for all good life.

“Please don’t let my father find my body,” Stiles yelled, the only prayer that seemed to come to his mind in the moment.

An intense animalistic roar followed, something Stiles had only ever heard once before – around the town’s first attack – and forced Stiles’s eyes open.

If he was going to die, he wanted to see what monster was killing him. The townspeople had only seen glimpses of fur and fangs previously, as the monsters moved too quickly for a full understanding.

Those images didn’t always make sense though, because the monsters behaved like men at times – like driving Stiles into this clearing, no animal had ever driven Stiles anywhere before.

Stiles’s eyes widened further as he realized that the stalks had stopped moving in front of him – or not stopped moving, just moving in a different direction?

The monsters were… Leaving.

Stiles released the breath that had been pent up within him for the last few moments.

At the moment that his body sank into relief, Stiles felt something land on top of him from behind, his face pushed forward into the mud beneath him.

Stiles’s reached out, trying to make sense of what was on top of him.

He expected to feel the fur of an animal, but instead came into contact with rough skin – much like his own. And muscle, lots of muscle.

Before Stiles could tell the man on top of him to leave him be, the animalistic growl returned, this time from right above him.

Stiles cried out at the sensation of sharp fangs moving across his nape, stopping quickly to dig deeply into his right shoulder blade.

He lifted his head in an attempt to head-butt whatever was on top of him, but the dirt flew toward him as his head was slammed into the ground.

Darkness seemed to swallow him, and the pain ripping through his shoulder faded.

***

For the third time that day, Stiles felt relief course through his body as he limped unevenly into the safety of the town.

The second time had been waking up several hours after being attacked by the monsters, seemingly untouched except for the ache in his shoulder.

“Stiles!” a voice boomed across the town, and Stiles felt yet another moment of relief upon seeing his father rush toward him.

“Are you all right, son?” his father asked, gripping tightly to Stiles’s left arm, both hands and eyes assessing Stiles’s body for ailments.

“Yes,” Stiles said, nodding slightly as he leaned into his father, “I thought I saw a boy in the fields. I went looking for him, but…”

Stiles shook his head again, and the memory that more than the boy had been lost came back to him.

“Nonsense,” a gravely voice said behind Stiles, “All the children are accounted for.”

”But–“ Stiles said, turning toward the town’s leader, Chris Argent.

“We did a find a young man,” his father said, “Unconscious outside our gate. Allison’s tending to him now, perhaps you mistook him for a small child? He’s rather frail.” 

“What ails your shoulder, boy?” Chris asked, angling behind Stiles, “Your shirt is bloodied.”

Unsure why, Stiles felt the instinct to hide his shoulder from Chris, but the man had a hand to his back before Stiles could move.

“Nothing?” Chris asked, “Where did this blood and tear come from then?”

“What?” Stiles asked, also confused at Chris’s statement, quickly running a hand over the area the monster had sank its teeth into.

Except he found nothing but smooth skin. Had the attack even happened?

Of course it had, even Chris acknowledged the blood on his shirt.

“Argent,” his father said, grasping a hand onto Stiles’s arm again, “I think you forget how close Stiles was to Lydia at the beginning of the attack.”

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Chris said, voice curt as he nodded and moved away from the two men.

“Papa,” a female voice called from the right, causing all three men to turn toward the public building sometimes used as a medical center.

Allison Argent stood in the building doorway, body outlined by the thin glow of lanterns within. 

The bloodied towel in her hand reminded Stiles of all the blood he had seen that day, including Lydia’s own violent death.

He felt his stomach heave not for the first time that day.

“Papa,” Allison repeated, “The man’s awake now. He says his name is Isaac.”

Stiles turned away from the group, releasing all stomach contents onto the ground.


	3. Baptism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Aiden–“ Stiles said, taking several steps back as he tried to bring Aiden’s attention to the rising dust clouds.
> 
> “Shut up, Stiles,” Aiden said, using the spade to knock Stiles onto the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested music for Chapter 3: [Poliça's "Very Cruel"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GBdMWAULRbo).  
> Find it via YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GBdMWAULRbo .

Stiles’s wrists burned from the rope rubbing the skin raw where he had been straining against the ties.

He looked back up into the crowd standing before him, most faces hidden in the cloak of the night. Except for one face standing as a cold beacon in the harsh moonlight.

“Why?” Stiles asked, looking directly into the eyes of the town’s leader, Chris Argent.

If Stiles weren’t more concerned with the situation at hand, he would have been more concerned by the blankness within Chris’s eyes.

Instead, Stiles focused on the large body making its way in front of the crowd. The uneven gait told Stiles that it was the senior Argent, Gerard.

Stiles remembered his father mentioning once that Gerard had intended to lead the town after settling, but some kind of animal attack shortly after arriving had severely disabled the man.

Still, the man had always been something fierce to behold, and that was probably even more true following the accident.

As Gerard stood in front of him, Stiles felt the familiar subconscious pull to avoid direct eye contact – usually a kindness given the large scars covering the man’s face, left there by deep claw marks.

A feeling deep within his gut told Stiles to resist the pull this time, and he matched Gerard’s intense gaze as best possible.

“You know why, boy,” Gerard said, voice already strained, pausing to let loose a deep cough, “Don’t try to pretend with us. We know what you are now.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes in confusion, an itch growing to rub at his right shoulder as a burning sensation set in where the beast had set its teeth.

“Don’t be coy,” Gerard said, voice booming with anger, “We know you’ve been marked. Show us your mark.”

“I don’t understand,” Stiles said, shaking his head, “Marked for what? By whom?”

“Ready the buckets,” Gerard spat out to the crowd behind him.

Several dark figures stepped up to form a circle around Stiles’s bound form.

Stiles desperately searched the remains of the crowd in front of him for his father, but he recognized no one other than Chris and Gerard.

“We can’t let this go on, boy,” Gerard said, stepping closer, “You’ll be the death of us all. If they want you so badly, they can have you. Bones and all.”

“What are you–“ Stiles said, stopping as the figures surrounding him raised several large buckets around him.

Stiles’s stomach dropped as the stench met his nostrils, and the buzzing sound that followed death and rot hit his ears.

Stiles shut his eyes and mouth tight as he felt the first bucket spill from above his head, body suddenly bathed in thick dark blood.

***

Stiles woke with a jolt, body drenched in sweat and right shoulder burning as if it had been set on fire.

He sat up from his bedpost to rub lightly at the shoulder’s skin, rough hands doing little to soothe the pain.

Not for the first time, Stiles prayed that these nightmares would end. He’d had one each night since the attack two weeks prior, and every one of them involved the Argents in some way.

And it wasn’t just the repetition of unpleasant dreams that were strange to him, but it was the presence of the Argents that aggravated him the most.

Stiles had given very little thought to the town’s main family other than as fleeting recognition in the streets, or in greeting Allison when visiting Lydia during off days.

Stiles simply didn’t understand why his dreams were so focused on the Argent family. He had no reason to obsess in this way, especially when they had never posed an harm to him before.

He rubbed again at his shoulder, this time gasping out at the uncomfortable pain from the touch.

The pain gave way to an odd sensation of unnaturalness, and Stiles realized it was the perception of being watched.

He turned toward the still dark window of his sleeping quarters, now twice as aggravated. That feeling of constant awareness hadn’t left him since his own attack in the fields.

Not that Stiles ever had an abundant amount of privacy, but this was something different altogether.

He felt increasingly paranoid, especially in the fields, as if somewhere in his mind he thought the stalks had eyes.

And maybe they did – what did he know? Maybe the monsters that plagued his village dealt in witchcraft. A black art for black beasts.

A strong hand fell across Stiles’s left cheek, and he nearly jumped out of his bed upon seeing Aiden Carver standing over him.

One of the Carver twins, Aiden typically meant very little to Stiles other than trouble – the pair caused more than enough havoc for a lifetime in one week.

Unfortunately, Stiles was only a year younger than the twins, so he was often grouped into the same field tasks. And he guessed that was what Aiden was after now – field duties.

He much preferred when Ethan collected him.

“I’ve been calling you for ages,” Aiden said, a firm glare already set upon his face, “Sun’s risen, time to get to work.”

“You’ve not needed me for the past week,” Stiles said, glancing back at the window to see a faint light rising in the sky, “Do you really need me today?”

“You’ve had enough time to wallow,” Aiden said, latching onto Stiles’s left arm and pulling him from the bed, “And we’re done pulling your weight. Your chores begin again today.”

Stiles accepted his fate silently, though he hurried in front of Aiden to avoid being roughly handled all the way.

Though Aiden’s approach was less than good natured, the words weren’t exactly untrue. The town had been rather patient with Stiles’s grief in losing Lydia.

The worst part of it all for Stiles was how the days kept dragging forward with new, but increasingly familiar, distractions from his loss.

The attack on him in the fields wasn’t something to be grieved. The repetitive nightmares weren’t something to be grieved. The constant paranoia wasn’t something to be grieved.

Stiles had lost his best friend in the whole village, but he had begun to give up on trying to explain that to his mind.

***

Moving through the progressively golden stalks, Stiles hunched his shoulders as Aiden angled his spade to interrupt Stiles feet, nearly tripping Stiles for the third time that afternoon.

The sun was nearing its highest position, meaning the heat was becoming unbearable, and his right shoulder began to burn again with a similar heat.

These discomforts combined with his lack of quality sleep were becoming too much to ignore, and Stiles turned quickly to face Aiden upon hearing a slight snicker from the other young man.

“Trouble, Stiles?” Aiden asked, humored face turning smug in the bright light.

“Yes,” Stiles said, nodding and pointing down at the spade’s sharp end, “You must be having difficulty carrying this tool, so let me help you.”

Aiden shook his head as Stiles grasped the spade, quickly pulling the tool away from Stiles’s reach.

Aiden placed a firm hand on Stiles’s chest, pushing him back harshly.

“It has a mind of its own,” Aiden said, “And I happen to like how it thinks.”

“So you admit you’ve been provoking me?” Stiles asked, eyebrows turning down into a scowl.

“No,” Aiden said, a glare overcoming his own face, “I just told you the spade moves as it wants.”

“You are ridiculous,” Stiles said, throwing his hands up into the air, “That spade can’t think for itself any more than you can, and I think I would have more success in my chores without either of you.”

Aiden lifted the spade quickly to block Stiles’s path as he made to move around the other man.

“I’ve been waiting two weeks to tell you what I think of you,” Aiden said, voice thickening as his facial features darkened, “And you’re not going to walk away before I have my full say. There’s no Pa out here to save you from what’s due.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes in confusion, still aggravated with the senseless conversation and the increasing burning in his shoulder.

“What nonsense is this?” Stiles asked, waving a hand toward Aiden.

“Lydia,” Aiden spat out, a venom entangling the utterance unlike any other that Stiles had ever heard, “It’s not nonsense, I’m talking about Lydia.”

Stiles felt his throat begin to constrict with the discomfort of the conversation, and blinked his eyes several times to avoid the humiliation of tearing up in front of someone else.

“It should have been you,” Aiden said, using the spade to push Stiles back, “They should have taken you – but they probably saw how worthless you were, too.”

Stiles jaw felt locked into position, though his mind silently raced in agreement with Aiden’s words. It should have been Stiles, no one understood that better than he did, and if this was the fight Aiden had been searching for all day, well… Aiden could have it, though it was already won.

“Pathetic,” Aiden said, shaking his head as he continued to push at Stiles, “You can’t even speak now. You never deserved her to begin with–“

“And if she hadn’t been obligated to me,” Stiles said, suddenly finding his voice, “She wouldn’t have been sitting next to me. And I would have been killed instead.”

“That’s right,” Aiden said, nodding his head, “You killed the best thing this godforsaken town had to offer, and I think the Good Book has it wrong in at least one way. Sometimes it should be an eye for an eye.”

Movement behind Aiden’s shoulder caught Stiles eye, causing him to peer behind Aiden as the other man lifted his spade into the air.

“Aiden–“ Stiles said, taking several steps back as he tried to bring Aiden’s attention to the rising dust clouds.

“Shut up, Stiles,” Aiden said, using the spade to knock Stiles onto the ground.

Stiles shoulder burned with new fervor as his back hit the ground, but he tried to ignore it as he watched the dust cloud getting closer.

It must have been Stiles’s widening eyes that finally caught Aiden’s attention, because the other man finally turned around to look at the clouds racing toward them.

“Run!” Stiles yelled, moving backwards as he launched from his knees back to his feet.

He heard more than saw Aiden join him, though he quickly lost the sound of his partner in the whirl of the stalks moving against him.

Despite his efforts, the dust seemed to surround Stiles, and he stopped once his lungs were so full that he had difficulty breathing.

The raised soil made it difficult to see his surroundings clearly, so Stiles attempted to focus his hearing on Aiden, as well as the monsters that were also in the field.

Except Stiles heard neither. Instead, he heard the wheels of several squeaky carts, as well as the dulled sounds of a chattering market.

Surely his ears were playing tricks though, Aiden and Stiles had been working in some of the furthest parts of the town’s fields. If they had continued working until the sun began to set, they might have made it back to the town by dark.

There was no way Stiles was already outside the town.

Stiles moved toward the noises, heart leaping slightly as rooftops of familiar buildings began to peek above the stalks.

Had the Lord transported him?

An intense energy filled his body as his hands stretched out beyond the field, telling him he had reached its end. He felt like he could wet himself from excitement.

And he almost did just that as he stepped out of the field, nearly jumping back into the field as the town’s new citizen stood in front of him. Mute Isaac.

“Uh…” Stiles said, looking around the field’s border to see if anyone else was with Isaac, “Good day, Isaac. Inspecting the fields?”

Per usual, Isaac remained silent, except for an intense gaze that never seemed to leave his face.

Stiles was fairly certain Isaac could talk, but the young man seemed to save his voice for rare occasions with Allison Argent.

“Is Allison with you?” Stiles asked, narrowing his eyebrows at Isaac.

Isaac ignored Stiles’s question again, heavy gaze turning below Stiles’s own stare.

Stiles looked down to see his bare chest coated in sweat and tiny yellow flecks, which reminded him of the reason he had been running.

His mind returned to Aiden, and Stiles spun around – expecting to see Aiden cross the border any moment as well.

“Have you seen Aiden, Isaac?” Stiles asked, moving toward a stump to peer over the field’s stalks, “We were in the fields together, but we… Made a game to see who could return to the town first. Did Aiden make it back first?”

Stiles turned back toward Isaac, hoping to see the young man offer a nod of confirmation; however, Isaac appeared just as interested in the field as Stiles.

Isaac tilted his head slightly, as though he was hearing something Stiles couldn’t.

Once again, Stiles was reminded of his paranoia that the stalks could talk. But unlike at nighttime, the fear felt silly in the bright afternoon light.

“Maybe he’s nearby,” Stiles said, stepping down from the stump to head back into the field, “Aid–“

Isaac moved quickly to step in front of Stiles, stopping him from reentering the field.

“Isaac,” Stiles said, attempting to step around the other young man, “This is not a time for games, I need to find Aiden.”

Isaac shot a hand out toward Stiles, the touch seeming to reignite the fire in Stiles’s right shoulder.

Hand still on Stiles’s arm, Isaac stepped around Stiles, pulling on Stiles to move back toward the town.

“Are you trying to tell me Aiden’s already made it back?” Stiles asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion, “For God’s sake man, just use words.”

Isaac pulled on Stiles’s arm again, and something in Isaac’s intense gaze told Stiles to move back toward the town, too.

Stiles nodded his head as he moved in the direction of Isaac’s pull, silently telling himself that Isaac had seen Aiden return already.

Aiden had probably told Isaac to stand in front of the field just to scare Stiles, that definitely sounded like Aiden.

“All right, Isaac,” Stiles said, shoulders slouching in defeat as he followed the other young man into the town.

***

It was dark before Stiles made it back to his bedpost, and with much of the day forgotten and his belly full of hard labored foods, Stiles eagerly approached the cot.

So eager that he considered skipping his nightly prayers to the being responsible for all good life, but thought better of it on the off chance that he might be spared his ritual nightmares this one night.

Already on his knees, midway between the thought and vocalization of his prayers, something vile hit Stiles’s nostrils.

Moving back onto his feet, Stiles reached for his lantern, already searching the shadows of his room for the cause of the smell.

With few possessions to search, Stiles’s gut began to reel as he faced his bedpost once more.

He reached toward the cot’s thin blanket covering with shaking hands, mind already racing through possibilities.

But none of those possibilities prepared Stiles for what he found laid out on the bed.

Taking in Aiden Carver’s severed head, Stiles released a scream as his body staggered backwards.


	4. Burial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deep marks showed where the other man’s head had been removed from his neck, but the head – offering a violent smirk toward Stiles – seemed somewhat intact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested music for Chapter 4: [St. Vincent's "Prince Johnny"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=idllxjHbX7w).  
> Find it via YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=idllxjHbX7w .

Father Martin’s words seemed to fade into the gray blur that was the weather surrounding the burial site, water quickly pouring into the half covered grave, small pools forming around the gathered community.

Stiles _should_ be helping fill the grave – he knew he should be helping – but his stomach felt as if it had eaten itself, and he wasn’t sure he had much strength left after so many losses.

Any offerings made by his community members were lost as his hearing focused on the shovels forcing their way into the deceptively soft mound near the grave, dirt sticking like syrup to the spades.

A more shrill, somewhat gravely, hiss that ultimately faded into a gurgle, bubbles rising from the now cut soil. Stiles turned his gaze back to the grave, and a new kind of numbness spread across his limbs while he watched mud being slung into the murky opening.

They probably should have waited for the weather to pass before burying Aiden, but many worried over how the last few attacks had been so close in timing.

All had agreed that whatever demons plagued the village had never been quite so brazen before.

Stiles refocused his gaze on the gravesite, body tensing at a new movement that had caught his attention.

An icy chill set through his spine, and he blinked his eyes several times. Stiles thought he had seen – though it couldn't be possible – he thought he had seen movement from within the grave.

Stiles watched as one of the mud walls closest to him gave way slightly, a small avalanche sinking further into the ground as dirtied fingers reached out of the brown sludge.

Stiles stomach churned and his throat thickened as he watched the soiled hand grasp more firmly at the soft ground. He tried to call out, but no sound came forward.

His lungs seemed to burn and his chest constricted, but nothing seemed to breach the lump blocking his words from entering the wet gray air.

Stiles snapped his head up, looking to the villagers around him for confirmation.

And though many heads were angled down at the grave before him, no face expressed the same shock that Stiles was feeling. Peering back and forth between the grave and his people, Stiles’s stomach seemed to eat itself all over again as a second hand reached out from the watery plot.

Stiles wasn’t quite sure _why_ , but he stepped forward. To help… Aiden? To alert his village? He wasn’t sure, but a hand grasped his shoulder, halting his progress. Stiles turned left, expecting to find his father mirroring back a similar expression of disbelief and horror, but instead Stiles’s took in Isaac’s watchful gaze.

Except, Isaac wasn’t watching Stiles, his gaze was set on the ground ahead of them.

Stiles turned back toward the grave, expecting to find an elbow making progress out of the ground, but he lurched back as he came face to face with a muddied Aiden.

Deep marks showed where the other man’s head had been removed from his neck, but the head – offering a violent smirk toward Stiles – seemed somewhat intact.

Now numb with shock, Stiles watched as Aiden’s hands reached out for him, one firmly latching onto his neck, the other not far behind.

“This is all your fault,” Aiden rasped.

Stile’s lungs tightened, all breath leaving him, but all he could do was focus on Aiden’s eyes. Had Stiles ever seen a gaze so dark before?

“It should have been you,” Aiden continued, hands tightening around Stiles’s neck, “It _should_ have been you!”

Stile’s gurgled on the last bit of air within him, dumbfounded how Aiden had managed his way out of the ground so quickly, and without being stopped by anyone in the village.

Darkness filled Stiles’s vision – surely someone was about to intervene?

With a sharp gasp, Stiles took new air into his lungs, but the darkness did not fade.

After several seconds simply staring into the darkness, Stiles realized he was not in the burial field, but laying on top of his new cot in the village barn.

“It was just a dream,” Stiles said to himself, taking in another shaky breath, “It was just a dream.”

Stiles felt an itch to stand up, the cot now wet with sweat and the heavy cotton of his shirt sticking to him. He tensed himself as he swung both legs out, leaning on the bed to support himself. As he walked toward the barn's ajar door, Stiles pushed his damp shirt up, throwing it to the ground.

It had been one of the Argents ideas to move him to the village outskirt. Stiles wasn't quite sure if it had been the unrestful noises he made during the night or his newfound attraction for unfortunate circumstances that had been the cause, but Stiles had put up no resistance either way. He would have never been able to sleep in his old room again.

He rested his forearm against the door's opening, taking in the still village ahead of him. A gray haze had settled over the town for the night, helping to dull the usually glimmering gold field beyond the village gates. A few windows flickered from candlelight, but nearly everything else in front of him was lit solely by the nearly full moon above.

The only disturbance in the otherwise peaceful image was a distant howl from the mountainous forest beyond the fields.

Stiles stepped back into the dark shelter at the sound of a second howl, this one sounding much closer. The hairs on his arms raised, and while Stiles didn't consider himself a particularly superstitious person, something felt wrong here.

Stiles began to question whether he should raise his father in the village over something as silly as a gut instinct, but the feeling of silliness gave way to one of total dread as he glimpsed several dark figures march their way out of the tall fields, silently creeping toward the village.

Before he could step forward though, already squinting in the dark to get a better view of who or what the figures were, the barn door slammed shut.

The slam seemed to shake throughout the entire structure, and the door's frame croaked with new life. A hand raised into the air, Stiles prepared to bang against the wood while yelling out, but two warm hands enveloped him – one firmly against his mouth, and another grasping the raised hand. Both dragged him back into the new darkness.


	5. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to everyone giving this fic a read!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested music for Chapter 5: [Amy Lee's "White Out"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=68fPlaAiWTY).  
> Find it via YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=68fPlaAiWTY .

A steady ache in his right shoulder sputtered Stiles back to life, fleshing a deep cough from his lungs as he sat up from the barn's bare floor. His breath came out more like a gasp, and his jaw clenched in pain at the quick movement.

The flapping of wings forced his gaze upward, and Stiles realized it was morning as a black crow stirred from the rafter above – his movements offending the crow probably as much as the light creeping into the barn was beginning to offend him. The rays highlighted the haze ebbing through the surrounding stark structure, telling Stiles it was still early for the village, though he could hear several voices shouting outside– Stiles closed his eyes suddenly, counting ten paces as he waited for the throbbing in his head to pass. He tried to remember why his head was throbbing, reaching up blindly to feel for a recent injury.

Fingers already scouring through his hair for the source, he reached back into his memories similarly, hoping to recover what had left him there on the barn floor.

He grasped the image of the peaceful village outlined in moonlight at the same time his fingers physically grasped a large welt on the back of his head, just behind his right ear. The dark before his eyes flashed white briefly, and he cried out from the physical pain.

He attempted to shake the sensation off though, eyes opening as he began to shakily stand up from the ground, wincing at the pain shooting up his legs as they took on his full weight. He remembered the peaceful village the night before, but he also remembered the field's creeping forms. The night's howls echoed through his ears as he stepped closer to the barn's now open door, and he could remember banging against the wooden planks in pitch black as they had vibrated beneath him.

He stretched his jaw out slowly at the memory of a rough hand clamping across it, and the weight of another body pressed closely to his back phantomed down his spine.

Stiles leaned against the door fame as he stretched a foot out slowly to kick the barn's door open further, and he blinked rapidly as he took in the new light.

His eyes watered as they absorbed the less peaceful village in front of him, several community members shouted as they worked together to clear several fallen homes, blackened ashy husks of once proud hand-made structures. A dark gray smoke rose above the town, like a weightless mountain, a haze still dulling the usually shimmering fields.

Stiles's stomach rolled with new panic as worry for his father set in, but alarm mixed with some semblance of relief at the sight of Isaac standing just off the path leading from the barn back to the village.

"Isaac," Stiles called, voice coming out more of a whisper than the beacon Stiles had hoped.

Stiles's brow furrowed as he stepped unsteadily beyond the barn's entrance, confusion building as he realized Isaac's focus was narrowed to the ground.

"Isaac," Stiles repeated, gaining ground with hastened feet eager to learn about his father's safety, "Isaac, did my father send you–"

Stiles stopped suddenly as the dark mound that had transfixed Isaac became clear to him, too. His stomach heaved, though Stiles couldn't remember his last actual meal, so the effort came up empty – more sound than action, though his inners felt as though they turned inside out.

Several still small dark bodies laid between Isaac and Stiles. Stiles's brain slowly realized they belonged to the barn's feral cat colony.

Isaac turned a wide gaze up to Stiles, meeting his own, shortly followed by the first words Isaac had deemed to share with him.

"Witch," Isaac said, voice surprisingly clear.

Voice surprisingly as steady as the young man's blank stare.

***

Stiles's head pounded along with the gavel echoing throughout the village town hall's vaulted ceiling. He let his body move left and right as his neighbors pushed him back and forth.

Each voice rose in equal amounts of outrage, all trying to rise above the other to signal the attention of the owner of the hand grasping the gavel, the village leader, Chris Argent.

Stiles did not raise himself in anger though, his body choosing to instead numb itself as his mind began to block out the voices. The room seemed to whirl around him, vision and hearing blurring into a steady non-existence as the list read out to the ream repeated throughout his mind.

The list that had included the names of the confirmed deceased villagers from the previous night's attack. A list that had included his own father's name.

Stiles's eyes watered at the reality that, had Stiles resisted the Argents push for Stiles to move to the barn, he might have been able to ensure his father's own safety.

Stiles reached back into his mind trying to remember their last words to one another, but he couldn't. Nothing came forward, and his chest compressed as he struggled to remember what his father's voice had even sounded like.

Bile and anger mixed in his stomach as he pressed his mind. Stiles had seen the man the morning before, these memories should not be locked to him – they _would_ not be locked to him. Stiles's body shook, and it took several moments before he realized a firm hand placed on his shoulder was responsible. The movement brought him back to the town hall, vision clearing as he blinked through thick warm tears.

Stiles slowly connected the warm liquid dripping down his upper lip with the rough handkerchief being thrust in front of his face by a neighbor, and he reached out to accept the thick cloth.

The room's tense conversation began to return to Stiles, a small jolt steeling through his body as he looked to the room's front to see an infirm Gerard Argent accompanying Chris.

For as long as Stiles could remember, Gerard's presence had always been menacing, despite the man's decrepit, yet surprisingly portly, frame. Taking in the thick hush allowing Gerard's words to seep over the villagers' heads, Stiles guessed his neighbors felt similarly. The room's outrage had broken into a tense thrum beneath Gerard's rasping words.

"–we cannot continue to sit like idle sheep for the wolf shepherd," Gerard said, a heated gaze searing across the room's span.

Stiles's throat thickened at the memory of the dark figures creeping out from the fields like smoke.

"We will go to the wolf ourselves," Gerard said, voice raising along with several nodding heads of the gathered villagers, "And we will send Satan's spawn back to the depths of Hell once and for all, so that our righteous village may continue God's work."

More heads began to nod, and the room's stamped outrage turned into the buzz of excitement, many voices beginning to call out in praise of Gerard's words.

Stiles would not praise Gerard's words though, because he had felt the terror and havoc these monsters plaguing their village were capable of more personally than he cared to admit – felt it breathing through the shimmering fields that were meant to give life to his village, felt it shake through the barn's walls meant to shelter their livestock, felt it inside his own private room where so few had ever been invited. And he had felt it rip through his own flesh.

"But first," Gerard continued, the new buzz quieting again, "We must find the wolf."

Stiles clasped a hand over his still aching shoulder as Gerard's words settled inside his mind. His gaze found Isaac's as he peered through the crowd.

Stiles steadied his legs as he thought of Lydia being flung back into the fields during the first attack. He squared his shoulders as he remembered Aiden's face turning to shock at the field's rising dust clouds, and again as it laid on his bed, torn from Aiden's body. He kept his gaze firm with Isaac as he remembered the young man's accusation just that morning, floating across the stilled animal bodies.

Stiles readied his throat as he thought of his father, and the memory of his final words to the man came forward as they spilled out into the town hall – shared with every member of the village, no longer private between just him and his father.

"I'll go," Stiles said, gaze still locked with Isaac's, "Let me go."


	6. Banished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks as always for reading this fic – I really hope you all continue to enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested music for Chapter 6: [Kali Uchis' "Sycamore Tree"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wAaE8CmOf9k).  
> Find it via YouTube at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wAaE8CmOf9k .

Stiles stamped down the dread beginning to course through his chest upon reaching the field's end. A short distance of dismal valley stretched out in front of him, the only fence between himself and the immense forbidding woodland.

Though already mid-morning, the forest appeared darker to Stiles than ever before, the contrast between light and dark highlighted by a faint morning mist snaking its way through the tree's frontline that did nothing to ease Stiles's mind. A mind that may have been less unsettled by the dark hills if Stiles only knew what type of creature he was to be hunting.

Stiles shook his head at the memory of how he had actually looked forward to this moment that morning – so many intense stares had followed him out the village, a path closed in by thick whispers asking the same question still haunting him – what type of animal bit with fangs but crept like man?

Still paused at the field's end, letting his labored breathing subside as he attempted to devise a plan. A taunting voice arose in his head, promising that whatever beasts called the forest home would surely find Stiles first. Perhaps that cruel reality was better though. Stiles had cheated death so many times up until this point, and he didn't fault Aiden for his words that afternoon in the field. At least this way he was choosing death himself.

Stiles straightened his spine as the weight of what he was about to do began to overcome him, he shook his head before turning back toward the field, a hand clutched to his right shoulder to ease some of the pain building there.

"You can head back now," Stiles said, setting a blank gaze on Isaac, standing doleful at the field's edge.

"Your duty has been served," Stiles said, trying not to let his voice overcome with bitterness toward the strange young man, "This witch will no longer plague you."

Isaac's facial expression remained blank, though his gaze remained steady on Stiles. The young man offered Stiles no vocal reaction.

Stiles released an aggravated sigh, throwing his arms toward Isaac in a dismissive gesture.

"Away with you," Stiles said, already turned back toward the forest and moving quickly to the tree-line.

***

Leaning against one of the larger trees Stiles had come across since morning, Stiles attempted to look up through the branches to understand how much of the day had passed. Unfortunately, the webbed branches above him were as thick as the brambles encircling him were sharp.

Irritation shot through Stiles's stomach as he watched Isaac patiently move in front of him, the young man slowly resting on the ground and leaning against the bark for support.

Isaac showed no sign of distress in the forest, though Stiles was very stressed to still have the strange escort with him.

"You should go back if you're tired," Stiles said, trying not to let the day's wear overcome his voice, "I'm sure they're already missing you, Isaac. This is my own doing."

Isaac remained silent, simply letting his head fall back against the bark and his eyes close while Stiles continued to lean against the tree himself.

Stiles took the moment to let his fear of his surroundings set in again, peering around the dark area for any indicator of progress. Instead, he found the realization that he was no longer even sure from which direction he had come.

The shadows had begun to play cruel tricks on his mind almost as soon as he had entered the thicket. A chill set down his spine as he realized that he had spent a large majority of his travel attempting to rely on sound to move throughout the area, but there were no sounds to be found.

The only sound Stiles could perceive were those of his own making. And Isaac's of course, the few sounds the young man did make at least.

***

Head sagged as he trudged forward, Stiles's feet ached and his eyes were sore from so much strain in the dark. He had yet to discover a single other forest occupant. Not a single bird or rabbit had crossed his path.

Stiles released a short yawn as he continued to move forward, briefly reflecting on the idea that he might very well roam the forest until his death – perhaps a far less violent reality than being found by the forest's devils, but an agonizing one none the less.

His body seemed to drag with each step forward, almost as though he were filled to the brim with rocks.

Stiles mind encouraged him to keep walking – one step forward, again, repeat. He tried to keep count of his steps, because at least he could know how many steps he took.

He no longer knew where the sun sat, or if it even sat, and he couldn't remember when Isaac had begun to lead.

***

Stiles woke with a jolt at the press of a firm hand to his mouth. The black blur that had been his peace faded as Isaac hunched above him took its place, faintly outlined by the thin bit of moonlight fighting its way through the forest's thick branched ceiling.

The small clearing he had chosen for sleep was perhaps the only area in the entire woodland with an opening to the sky. Isaac had seemed unbothered by the find, but Stiles felt as though his whole soul had been uplifted.

Stiles's heart and mind began to race in competition to understand Isaac's intent, but before he could question Isaac, the young man leaned in.

"Listen," Isaac whispered, bringing another hand up to flick at Stiles's ears.

Stiles's blood seemed to course through his ears, a flood rampaging throughout his whole body that almost stopped him from hearing the rhythmic pounding.

 _"A rider,"_ Stiles thought, stomach and mind colliding in opposition at the realization.

Isaac remained still, waiting patiently as Stiles began to twist his face, focusing on the faint gallop that was growing nearer. Stiles's legs tensed, ready to run and seek out the traveler.

Isaac released his hand from Stiles's mouth, flicking at Stiles's ear once more before lifting up from the ground and moving toward the sound.

Stiles hesitated on the ground before pushing up as well, new air stretching across his sweat soaked frame. Stiles's eyes conflicted as he moved from the moonlit stretch back into the darkness of the deeper brush, following both Isaac and the hooves.

But Stiles seemed to lose Isaac in only a few short paces. It occurred to him that he wanted to call out for Isaac, but the notion only caused the frustration building within his body to mount further.

Stiles began to turn in circles, peering into the darkness and attempting to understand where his unwanted companion had gone. A sense of panic set in at the idea that the death he thought of back at the field was near.

Almost determined to call out for Isaac, whatever beast might be close be damned, Stiles paused to take a deep breath in, straightening his shoulders as he attempted to ground himself in his surroundings, something his father had always encouraged him to do when he felt lost.

A light flickered further ahead, and Stiles stepped toward it even as his mind crashed against the idea. The thick scent of smoke caught up to him along with the murmur of kindling, and Stiles's eyes widened as he took in a large orange clearing lit by the burning of the most massive tree he had ever seen.

The tree's limbs twisted like vines in a thousand directions, offering itself up quickly to the flames. Like everything else in the forest, the bark was dark and rough. Though menacing with life, the tree looked as though it had been burned a hundred times already.

Stiles cried out as he felt himself pushed into the clearing, the flames swinging down from the branches and encircling the clearing's brush in seconds.

Stiles's lungs felt heavy, and he wheezed with his back to the tree, seeking past the flames to understand who had pushed him.

The sound of pounding hooves returned, though Stiles realized that sound had never left, but simply faded in the fire's whirl.

"Burn the boy!" A voice called out from behind the expanding orange wall, "We'll tell the others the demons ate him."

Stiles began to cough, breath fading quickly as though the flames were feeding on the life inside him, too. Sweat trickled down his back, and he felt his body sink to his knees.

His hands clutched the ground beneath him, fingers ripping into the soil as he bent his head down – everything seemed to whirl in his ears.

This was neither of the deaths he had planned for himself.

"Isaac," Stiles called out, voice breaking into a thick cough.

***

Stiles woke with a gasp, spine snapping upright as pain shot through his right shoulder. He brought a hand up to his now burning shoulder. A small sense of relief flushed through his body as Stiles gulped in several breaths of air, as though he was quenching a thirst for water. His throat felt thick with smoke, but he grimaced through the scratchy soreness.

He peered around the darkness attempting to make sense of his surroundings again, and he found Isaac sat against a tree's bark across from him.

Stiles couldn't see the young man's eyes, but he felt the thick gaze on him – heavy like the fire from his sleep had been, and accusatory like it had been in front of the barn back at the village.

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you for taking the time to read this fic, I hope you've enjoyed it so far!


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